Frozen Toes and Rosy Glows

​It’s bitter cold, it’s minus three,

The hills are white as white can be.

The roads are slick with silver frost,

In memories now, my mind is lost;

Of frozen toes and winter blows,

In wellies dressed like Eskimos.

​The sun shines down to melt the ice,

The trees look crisp and clean and white.

A robin, tame, lands by my feet,

As if he knows I’ll bring a treat.

The dogs jump round like newborn pups,

Racing as if they’ve won the cups!

​The cat is hidden, camouflaged white,

Her one black spot stands dark as night.

My grandson’s cheeks have a rosy glow,

The wonder of his first-time snow.

​The world looks clean, as if anew,

With white clouds wrapped in skies of blue.

I love the snow, and the memories

Of childhood times in the seventies.